Strykes went around the man and faced Jed. “So? Cuttin’ in for yourself, are you? Well, nobody gets in the way of my boss. Go for your gun or go back to Texas. You got a choice!”
“I’m not going to kill you,” Jed said. “I don’t like your manner, but if you touch that gun I’ll have to blow your guts out. Instead, I’d rather teach you a lesson.”
His left hand grabbed Strykes by the belt. He shoved back and then lifted, and his left toe kicked Strykes’s foot from under him as Jed lifted on the belt and then let go.
The move caught Strykes unaware, and he hit the floor hard. For an instant he was shaken, but then he came off the floor with a curse.
Jed Asbury had taken up his drink with his left hand, leaning carelessly against the bar. Jed’s left foot was on the brass rail, and as Strykes swung his right fist, Jed straightened his leg, moving himself out from the bar so that the punch missed, throwing Strykes against the bar. As his chest hit the bar Jed flipped the remainder of his drink into Strykes’s eyes.
Moving away from the bar he made no attempt to hit Strykes, just letting the man paw at the stinging whiskey in his eyes. When he seemed about to get his vision cleared, Jed leaned forward and jerked open Strykes’s belt. Strykes’s pants slid toward his knees, and he grabbed at them. Jed pushed him with the tips of his fingers. With his pants around his knees Strykes could not stagger, so he fell.
Jed turned to the others in the room. “Sorry to have disturbed you, gentlemen! The name is Mike Latch. If you are ever out to the Casa Grande, please feel free to call.”
He walked out of the saloon, leaving laughter behind him as Strykes struggled to get up and pull his pants into place.
Yet he was remembering the man who had stepped up to Strykes saying he had never seen Jed before. Had that man known the real Mike Latch? If Walt Seever knew of the covered wagon with its three murdered people, he would know Jed Asbury was an impostor and would be searching for a way to prove it. The vast and beautiful acres of Rancho Casa Grande were reason enough.
Riding homeward he mulled over the problem. There was, of course, a chance of exposure, yet no one might ever come near who could actually identify him.
His brief altercation with Strykes had gotten him nowhere. He had undoubtedly been observed when riding into town, and the stranger must have known the real Latch. Nevertheless, the fight, if such it could be called, might have won a few friends. In the first place he could not imagine a man of Seever’s stamp was well liked; in the second he had shown he was not anxious to get into a gun battle. Friends could be valuable in the months to come, and he was not catering to the rowdy element who would be Seever’s friends.
Seever, however, would now be spoiling for a fight, and Jed might be killed. He must find a way to give Carol a strong claim on the ranch. Failing in that, he must kill Walt Seever.
Jed Asbury had never killed a man except to protect his own life or those close to him. Deliberately to hunt down and shoot a man was something he had never dreamed of doing, yet it might prove the only way he could protect Carol and Tony Costa. With a shock he realized he was thinking more of Carol than of himself, and he hardly knew her.
Apparently the stranger had known he was not Mike Latch. The next time it might be a direct accusation before witnesses. Jed considered the problem all the way home.
Unknown to Jed, Jim Pardo, one of the toughest hands on the ranch, had followed him into town. On his return, Pardo drew up before, the blacksmith shop and looked down at Pat Flood. The gigantic old blacksmith would have weighed well over three hundred pounds with two good legs, and he stood five inches over six feet. He rarely left the shop, as his wooden leg was always giving him trouble.
“He’ll do,” Pardo said, swinging down.
Flood lit his corncob pipe and waited.
“Had a run-in with Harry Strykes.”
Flood drew on the pipe, knowing the story would come.
“Made a fool of Harry.”
“Whup him?”
“Not like he should of, but maybe this was worse. He got him laughed at.”
“Strykes will kill him for that.”
Pardo rolled a cigarette and explained. “If Strykes is smart he will leave him alone. This here Latch is no greenhorn. He’s a man knows what he can do. No other would have handled it like he did. Never turned a hair when Strykes braced him. He’s got sand in his gizzard, an’ I’m placin’ my bets that he’ll prove a first-class hand with a shootin’ iron. This one’s had trouble before.”
“He’s deep,” Flood said, chewing on his pipe stem.
“Old George always said Latch was a book reader, an’ quiet-like.”
“Well,” Flood was thoughtful, “He’s quiet enough, an’ he reads books.”
Tony Costa learned of the incident from Pardo, and Maria related the story to Carol. Jed made no reference to it at supper.
Costa hesitated after arising from the table. “Señor, since Señor Baca’s death the señorita has permitted me to eat in the ranch house. There was often business to discuss. If you wish, I can—”
“Forget it, and unless you’re in a hurry, sit down. Your years on the ranch have earned you your place at the table.”
Jed took up the pot and filled their cups. “Yesterday I was over in Fall Valley and I saw a lot of cattle with a Bar O brand.”
“Bar O? Ah, they try it again! This brand, Señor, belongs to a very big outfit! Frank Besovi’s ranch. He is a big man, Señor, a very troublesome man. Always he tries to move in on that valley, but if he takes that he will want more. He has taken many ranches, so.”
“Take some of the boys up there and throw those cattle off our range.”
“There will be trouble, Señor.”
“Are you afraid of trouble, Costa?”
The foreman’s face tightened. “No, Señor!”
“Neither am I. Throw them off.”
When the punchers moved out in the morning, Jed mounted a horse and rode along. And there would be trouble. Jed saw that when they entered the valley.
Several riders were grouped near a big man with a black beard. Their horses all carried the Bar O brand.
“I’ll talk to him, Costa. I want to hear what Besovi has to say.”
“Very bad man,” Costa warned.
Jed Asbury knew trouble when he saw it. Besovi and his men had come prepared for a showdown. Jed did not speak, he simply pushed his black against Beosvi’s gray.
Anger flared in the big man’s eyes. “What the hell are you tryin’ to do?” he roared.
“Tell your boys to round up your Bar O cattle and run them back over your line. If you don’t, I’ll make you run ’em back, afoot!”
“What?” Besovi was incredulous. “You say that to me?”
“You heard me. Give the order!”
“I’ll see you in hell first!” Besovi shouted.
Jed Asbury knew this could be settled in two ways. If he went for a gun there would be shooting and men would be killed. He chose the other way.
Acting so suddenly the move was unexpected, he grabbed Besovi by the beard and jerked the rancher sharply toward him, at the same time he kicked the rancher’s foot loose from his stirrup and then shoved hard. Besovi, caught unawares by the sheer unexpectedness of the attack, fell off his horse, and Jed hit the ground beside him.
Besovi came to his feet, clawing for his gun. “Afraid to fight with your hands?” Jed taunted.
Besovi glared and then unbuckled his gun belts and handed them to the nearest horseman. Jed stripped off his own gun belts and handed them to Costa.
Besovi started toward him with a crablike movement that made Jed’s eyes sharpen. He circled warily, looking the big man over.
Jed was at least thirty pounds lighter than Besovi, and it was obvious the big man had power in those mighty shoulders. But it would take more than power to win this kind of a fight. Jed moved in, feinting to get Besovi to reveal his fighting style. Besovi grabbed at his left wrist, and Jed brushed t
he hand aside and stiffened a left into his face.
Blood showed, and the Casa Grande men yelled. Pardo, rolling his quid of tobacco in his jaws, watched. He had seen Besovi fight before. The big man kept moving in, and Jed circled, wary. Besovi had some plan of action. He was no wild-swinging, hit or miss fighter.
Jed feinted again and then stabbed two lefts to Besovi’s face, so fast one punch had barely landed before the other smacked home. Pardo was surprised to see how Besovi’s head jerked under the impact.
Besovi moved in, and when Jed led with another blow, the bigger man went under the punch and leaping close encircled Jed with his mighty arms. Jed’s leap back had been too slow, and he sensed the power in that grasping clutch. If those huge arms closed around him he would be in serious trouble, so he kicked up his feet and fell.
The unexpected fall caught Besovi off balance and he lunged over him, losing his grip. Quickly, he spun, but Jed was already on his feet. Besovi swung and the blow caught Jed on the cheekbone. Jed took the punch standing and Pardo’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Nobody had ever stood up under a Besovi punch before.
Jed struck then, a left and right that landed solidly. The left opened the gash over Besovi’s eye a little wider, and the right caught him on the chin, staggering him. Jed moved in, landing both fists to the face. The big man’s hands came up to protect his face and Jed slugged him in the stomach.
Besovi got an arm around Jed and hooked him twice in the face with wicked, short punches. Jed butted him in the face with his head, breaking free.
Yet he did not step back but caught the rancher behind the head with his left hand and jerked his head down to meet a smashing right uppercut that broke Besovi’s nose.
Jed pushed him away quickly and hit him seven fast punches before Besovi could get set. Like a huge, blind bear Besovi tried to swing, but Jed ducked the punch and slammed both fists to the body.
Besovi staggered, almost falling, and Jed stepped back. “You’ve had plenty, Besovi, and you’re too good a fighter to kill. I could kill you with my fists, but I’d probably ruin my hands in doing it. Will you take those cattle and get out of here?”
Besovi, unsteady on his feet, wiped the blood from his eyes. “Well, I’ll be damned! I never thought the man lived—! Will you shake hands?”
“I’d never shake with a tougher man or a better one!”
Their hands gripped, and suddenly Besovi began to laugh. “Come over to supper some night, will you? Ma’s been tellin’ me this would happen. She’ll be pleased to meet you!”
He turned to his riders. “The fun’s over, boys! Round up our stock an’ let’s go home.”
The big rancher’s lips were split; there was a cut over his right eye and another under it. The other eye was swelling shut. There was one bruise on Jed’s cheekbone that would be bigger tomorrow, but it wasn’t enough to show he had been in a fight.
“Can’t figure him,” Pardo told Flood, later. “Is he scared to use his guns? Or does he just like to fight with his hands?”
“He’s smart,” Flood suggested. “Look, he’s made a friend of Besovi. If he’d beaten him to the ground, Besovi might never have forgiven him. He was savin’ face for Besovi just like they do it over China way. And what if he’d gone for his guns?”
“Likely four or five of us might not have made it home tonight.”
“That’s it. He’s usin’ his head for something more than a place to hang a hat. Look at it. He’s made a friend of Besovi and nobody is shot up.”
Jed, soaking his battered hands, was not so sure. Besovi might have gone for a gun, or one of his hands might have. He had taken a long gamble and won; next time he might not be so lucky.
At least, Rancho Casa Grande had one less enemy and one more friend.
If anything happened to him Carol would need friends. Walt Seever was ominously quiet, and Jed was sure the man was waiting for proof that he was not Michael Latch.
And that gave Jed an idea. It was a game at which two could play.
Carol was saddling her horse when he walked out in the morning. She glanced at him, her eyes hesitating on the bruise. “You seem to have a faculty for getting into trouble!” she said, smiling.
He led the black gelding out. “I don’t believe in ducking troubles. They just pile up on you. Sometimes they get too big to handle.”
“You seem to have made a friend of Besovi.”
“Why not? He’s a good man, just used to taking in all he can put his hands on, but he’ll prove a good neighbor.” He hesitated and then glanced off, afraid his eyes would give him away. “If anything happens to me, you’ll need friends. I think Besovi would help you.”
Her eyes softened. “Thank you, Mike.” She hesitated just a little over the name. “You have already done much of what Uncle George just talked of doing.”
Costa was gathering the herd Jed wanted to sell, and Pardo was riding with him. Jed did not ask Carol where she was going, but watched her ride away toward the valley. He threw a saddle on his own horse and cinched up. At the sound of horses’ hoofs he turned.
Walt Seever was riding into the yard. With him were Harry Strykes and Gin Feeley. The fourth man was the one he had seen in the saloon who had told Walt he was not Michael Latch. Realizing he wore no guns, Jed felt naked and helpless. There was no one around the ranch house of whom he knew.
Seever drew rein and rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle. “Howdy! Howdy, Jed!”
No muscle changed on Jed Asbury’s face. If trouble came he was going right at Walt Seever.
“Smart play,” Seever said, savoring his triumph. “If it hadn’t been for me doubtin’ you, you might have pulled it off.”
Jed waited, watching.
“Now,” Seever said, “your game is up. I suppose I should let you get on your horse an’ ride, but we ain’t about to.”
“You mean to kill me like you did Latch and his friends?”
“Think you’re smart, do you? Well, when you said that you dug your own grave.”
“I suppose your sour-faced friend here was one of those you sent to kill Latch,” Jed commented. “He looks to be the kind.”
“Let me kill him, Walt!” The man with the sour face had his hand on his gun. “Just let me kill him!”
“What I want to know,” Seever said, “is where you got them guns?” Walt said, holding up a hand to stop the other man.
“Out of the wagon, of course! The men you sent to stop Latch before he got here messed up. I’d just gotten away from a passel of Indians and was stark naked. I also found clothes in the wagon. I also found the guns.”
“About like I figured. Now we’ll get rid of you, an’ I’ll have Casa Grande.”
Jed was poised for a break, any kind of a break, and stalling for time. “Thieves like you always overlook important things. The men you sent messed up badly. They were in too much of a hurry and didn’t burn the wagon. And what about Arden?”
“Arden? Who the devil is Arden?”
Jed had come a step nearer. They would get him, but he was going to kill Walt Seever.
He chuckled. “They missed her, Walt! Arden is a girl. She was with Latch when he was killed.”
“A girl?” Seever turned on the other man. “Clark, you never said anything about a girl!”
“There wasn’t any girl,” Clark protested.
“He killed three of them, but she was out on the prairie to gather wild onions or something.”
“That’s a lie! There was only the three of them!” Clark shouted.
“What about those fancy clothes you threw around in the wagon? Think they were old woman’s clothes?”
Walt was furious. “Damn you, Clark! You said you got all of them!”
“There wasn’t no girl,” Clark protested. “Anyway, I didn’t see one!”
“There was a girl, Walt, and she’s safe. If something goes wrong here you will have to answer for it, Walt. You haven’t a chance!”
Seever’s face was ugly with
anger. “Anyway, we’ve got you! We’ve got you dead to rights!” His hand moved toward his gun, but before Jed Asbury could move a muscle, there was a shot.
From behind Jed came Pat Flood’s voice. “Keep your hands away from those guns, Walt. I can shoot the buttons off your shirt with this here rifle, and in case that ain’t enough I got me a scattergun right beside me. Now you gents just unbuckle your belts, real easy now! Your first, Seever!”
Jed dropped back swiftly and picked up the shotgun.
The men shed their guns. “Now get off your hosses!” Flood ordered.
They dismounted and Flood asked, “What you want done with ’em, Boss? Should we bury them here or give them a runnin’ chance?”
“Let them walk back to town,” Jed suggested. “All but Clark. I want to talk to Clark.”
Seever started to speak, but the buffalo gun and the shotgun were persuasive. He led the way.
“Let me go!” Clark begged. “They’ll kill me!”
Jed gathered the gun belts and walked to the blacksmith shop, behind Clark.
“How much did you hear?” he asked Flood.
“All of it,” the big blacksmith replied bluntly, “but my memory can be mighty poor. I judge a man by the way he handles himself, and you’ve been ridin’ for the brand. I ain’t interested in anything else.”
Jed turned on Clark. “Get this straight. You’ve one chance to live, and you shouldn’t have that. Tell us what happened, who sent you and what you did.” He glanced at Flood. “Take this down, every word.”
“I got paper and pencil.” Flood said. “I always keep a log.”
“All right, Clark, a complete confession and you get your horse a and runing start.”
“Seever will kill me.”
“Make your choice. You sign a confession or you can die right here at the end of a rope behind a runaway horse. Seever’s not going to kill anybody, ever again.”
Clark hesitated, and then he said, “I was broke in Ogden when Seever found me. I’d knowed him before. He told me I was to find this here wagon that was startin’ west from St. Louis. He said I was to make sure they never got here. I never knew there was a woman along.”
Collection 2005 - Riding For The Brand (v5.0) Page 3